A Date (kind of)
by Afrokot
Summary: #4 in the Fast Forward series. Peter joins Stiles in a diner. [Dialogue heavy]


A shadow falls across his book, and Stiles looks up.

"Thank you for the card," Peter says, standing next to his table.

"What card?"

"The one that says 'Happy Resurrection Day' in bright bold letters." He doesn't wait for an invitation and simply sits down. The couch's fake leather squeaks, and Peter grimaces.

In Stiles's eyes that little display makes him more human. "Hmm… And why exactly do you think it's from me?"

"You are still the only one who knows where I live beside Derek, and somehow I can't imagine him choosing to congratulate me on my ' _successfully pulled Lasarus act.'_ "

Stiles snorts a laugh and some of his milkshake along with it. Coughing, he says, "You should not be allowed to quote my witty remarks. At least, not while I'm drinking."

"And where would be the fun in that?" Peter says, offering him a napkin.

"Please, don't look at me like that."

"And how is that?" Peter asks, eyebrows raising slightly.

"With big sad eyes full of innocence to the brim when you are anything but."

Dropping the pretence, he smirks. "Nice tee-shirt."

Automatically glancing at it, Stiles says, "Thanks."

It _is_ nice, more than that, it's one of his favorites. He is not afraid to go outside with "Make the world better — wear tutu!" written in white bold letters across his chest.

"This color suits you." Peter taps the vinyl tabletop idly. "Salmon?"

Unimpressed, Stiles says, "It's _pink_. I'm man enough to pull off wearing pink."

"My mistake. Though, I must say, red suits you better."

"Yeah, no" — he shakes his head — "I'm not going to play Little Red for you. It was Lydia's idea in the first place, and I owed her, okay?" He flushes, remembering that outfit. Let anyone pick his costume again? Never in a gazillion years!

"If you'd be my Huntsman, I will be your Big Bad Wolf." Peter's smirk turns sinful, loaded with unspoken promises and unacknowledged desires.

"Please, stop." With some amusement, he thinks that his voice won't be more flat even if it goes under the asphalt paver. And then he actually imagines it and shudders.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"You are making me embarrassed by proxy. And also like I need to call Dad to make a report."

"Too late for that. You're not a minor anymore."

"I still can report harassment."

"But you won't."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Positive."

"Hmm… I really wasn't going to, but now, looking at your smug face, it's kinda hard to resist."

"I will buy you a drink," Peter says after a glance at Stiles' almost empty glass.

"You think I'm so cheap, huh?" Stiles straightens his posture. "It will take more than one measly drink." He pauses. "A full dinner, and don't forget the dessert!"

Chucking, Peter flags a waitress, who brings them laminated menus. They pause long enough to order drinks.

"And anyway, Halloween was, like, five months ago! You should have forgotten all about it, what with your respectfully old age."

Hand over his heart, Peter says, "You wound me. I'm at my prime."

"Only if you are a vulcan, and somehow I highly doubt that."

"You know that I'm _not_ eighty. And who is to say I'm not a vulcan?"

The corners of Stiles's lips twitch up. "Yeah? And where's your pointy ears, Mr. Spock?"

Leaning back, Peter says, "I'm under disguise of perception altering filter."

"Next you'll claim to have a psychic paper."

"Just psychic abilities. _There're your drinks, boys._ "

"There're your drinks, boys," says the waitress, depositing a cup of coffee in front of Peter and a new milkshake for Stiles. "Have you decided on your order?"

"A double cheese hamburger with curly fries and onions, please."

"Nothing for me. Thank you, Doris."

"Don't tell me you are watching your figure," Stiles says as Doris walks to the kitchen.

"I'm very conscious of what I put into my mouth."

"There're _so many_ jokes I could say right now..."

"I wasn't aware there's something that can" — Peter looks at Stiles's lips, who licks them — "make you censor your words."

"Dad raised me better than this," Stiles says with the dignity of Elizabeth II but without the accent. "And how did you know she would call us 'boys'?"

"It's Doris" — he shrugs — "for her anyone under sixty is a boy."

They pause, sipping their drinks.

"So," Peter says when half of his coffee — black, no sugar — is gone.

"Yes?"

"Jackson is back from London."

"Um-hum, saw him a couple of times at the Mall. He even nodded in my general direction. Being abroad has definitely improved his manners."

"Isaac has developed a crush on him."

"No freaking way!"

Face sad and a little disappointed, Peter says, "Unfortunately."

Stiles snorts. "Heh, my heart goes out for him. Jackson's so far in the closet, he must have found Narnia by now."

Looking over his shoulder, Peter says, "Oh, hello, Jackson. How is Narnia?"

Stiles choked on his milkshake for the second time. "Ha-ha, very funny, you are hilarious," he deadpans as soon as he is able.

Peter inclines his head. "Thank you."

"So I was thinking…" Stiles shifts in his seat.

"Ah, a novel experience." A nod. "How do you find it so far?"

"Invigorating. You should try it, too, some time. I was saying, I'm going to rent a movie later tonight."

"And?" One eyebrow climbs his forehead.

"Want to join me?"

The other follows. "Are you asking me out?"

"Evidently, I'm doing something wrong if you feel the need to clarify." Slumping, Stiles looks away. "It was a stupid idea, anyway. Never mind."

"Hmm. I was going to say yes."

"Seriously?"

Peter gives him an exasperated look. "What are you going to watch?"

"The Notebook."

"Ah, no. Suddenly, I remember that I already have other plans."

"What, watching how the dust collects on furniture by your lonesome?"

"Not quite, but thank you for the suggestion, I just might do that."

Stiles laughs. "Yeah, okay, you are right. Watching Notebook for the gazillionth time is about as interesting as watching wallpaper."

"Well, now you are being unfair — I have seen quite a number of engaging wallpapers in my time."

"If it all the same to you, I'd prefer to stare at an empty fish tank for two hours instead."

"Or we can do that."

"No, let's get the Galaxy Quest, and I will think about letting you in on my popcorn stash."

Doris brings Stiles's order and refills Peter's cup.

"You sure don't want some?" he asks through a mouthful of burger.

Peter pulls a face. "No, especially not _now_."

Stiles chuckles. "So I thinks it's already a date," he says after swallowing.

"How did you figure it out?"

"You bought me food."

"Well, then this is our second date."

"Umm… Why?"

"The first one was when we watched Star Trek."

"But that was months ago!"

Peter just looks at him.

"Okay. So, by your logic, tonight is going to be our third date?" Surreptitiously, Stiles wipes his palms on his jeans. Not that Peter can possibly miss it, of course.

"Yes. And I expect to get a kiss at the very least," he replies, enjoying Stiles's reaction.

"Isn't kissing a first date base?"

"I'm not fond of prisons."

"Been to many of them?"

"None, but I saw Prison Break, and orange isn't my color."

"Um-hum." Stiles finishes the last of his fries. "Thanks for the food. Come by around eight." Standing up, he packs his book and plants a quick kiss on Peter's lips. "And use the door this time."


End file.
